lacu caeruleo

Here's the long-overdue second (or rather, penultimate) instalment from Hesioluge. As you can see, the writings have become increasingly cryptic so I may as well stop after this entry. In the end, who can possibly remember such an encounter four years on?

End of March. Enerything's on track, my words a little off.

Still I am trying hard to cope. After the conversation with him which resulted in the Psyche discussion, I begin to understand things slightly better. Or rather, to treat them more leniently and thus, naturally. There's no need in working against oneself, life is short and you can never tell. Looking forward to tomorrow and well spend today; there's so much to ask for. Like now. Not at all times might you do it properly, yet the best is to be.

Seemingly I have settled down quite comfortably at this school, and so I hope. When materialisticly physical stuff becomes minor, nothing is to worry about. Of course we've got a number of tasks in hand and a plight to grapple with, but thinks openly and wisely. Freud is never to sorry you, Shakespeare not to metaphysicise you, Baby Blues never to memorise you, Small Things never to trivialise you. You've got your own sight. Let it be Joy's mind, Elis's sense, Wides' nothing and everything. Take it all.

And thus to have a mind of your own. His Illusion.